Musings - Chapter Four of Series One
by partsguy
Summary: Morse is beginning to realize that he needs to seriously look at where his relationship with Joan is, and what he wants to do about it. Also a retrospective look by Morse from thirty years in the future.


**Chapter Four of Book One**

 **Musings**

Jim Strange was just getting ready for bed when he heard a key in the lock, then the front door open. He called out to his presumed visitor "Is that you, matey?" Not receiving any reply, he went in to make sure that it was his house mate Morse. Although who else would it be, in his experience burglars seldom used keys. Yes, it was Morse, putting away his jacket and seemingly oblivious to anyone. "Everything all right? I mean Joan's ok?" Morse looked at him with that somewhat vacant look he had sometimes before saying, "sure, she's good". Not being exactly sure of the situation Strange told him, "well, its bed for me I've got a long one tomorrow."

Jim had gone to Joan's flat after work. She had offered to have dinner for both he and Morse that evening. A nice treat for Jim as he quickly tired of his own cooking. Not to mention having a bit of female company for a change. Of course, they weren't involved but she was quick with a joke, had an agile mind and generally kept the mood light and positive. Seemingly the antithesis of Morse, but they say opposites attract.

He had arrived before Morse, and it didn't take him long to realize that something was bothering Joan. First, she was drinking Morse's scotch, not wine as was her normal drink of choice. And she wasn't as focused as normal. Not that she was drunk, not even high, just wasn't "on her game" as they say. In fact, when Morse arrived, the atmosphere changed. Not necessarily bad but there was something different in the air. Nothing overt, just a different vibe.

The mood persisted through dinner and it looked to him that he should excuse himself and leave them too it. So, stifling a feigned yawn, and using the "have to go in early" line he excused himself. He could walk home and hopefully they could talk over whatever the issue was.

Morse told Jim that he was going to have a nightcap before going to bed, he would see him in the morning. Grabbing a clean glass, one thing about Jim there weren't a bunch of dirty dishes about, he poured himself a drink. Sinking down into one of the three chairs in the flat he exhaled a long breath. "What a day". Work had been bad enough, he'd been run off his feet all day. A couple of the new constables he's been saddled with took way too much hand holding. Seemed as if he never did any real police work anymore. Babysitter that's what he was, just a glorified baby sitter.

Then to top that off from the moment he had seen Joan that evening he had known something was troubling her. Thank goodness Strange had noticed it as well and taken his leave. Even at that it had taken some time to get her to tell him what was on her mind. When she did his reaction, which she had perceived as indifference, wasn't exactly his shining hour.

It really shouldn't be a problem all, should it? After all she wasn't pregnant so what were they worried about? Nor was it likely that there would be an unwanted pregnancy. Of course, there had been that wild night which had been their first time together, they had been careful. But maybe the truth was that a potential pregnancy wasn't the real problem? Maybe they were faced with having to take a stark look at their relationship. That it wasn't just a kind of fun, abstract thing anymore. This was or would be a commitment, and were they truly willing to make it? They'd known each other for several years now, and the moment she had answered the door at the Thursday's he had been smitten. Or at least he thought he had been. In fact, he had spent way too much time denying it. He refilled his glass, sat back, and just thought back over all the times they had been together. So, get it together man! Do you really truly want her or not? Is this the woman you want to spend the rest of your like with?

The only thing that was in his control was his feelings for her. He loved her and likely always would. Her feelings were beyond his control, so just do the best he could for as long as he could. The rest was out of his hands.

Little did he realize that thirty odd years later he would remember this night.

The reflection from the glow in the fireplace was occasionally captured in his drink. The last drink of the evening it had to be savored and nursed as long as possible. The last drink, there had been a time long ago when he could never have said that. At least not with any confidence. Now it was simply a matter of self-discipline, another gift from the woman resting in their bedroom. A gift that had been instrumental in achieving what he, no they, had achieved over the years.

It was her that had given him the push, uncovered the motivation within him to do better. To show him how to and help him remove the obstacles in their way. To go back to school and get the degree he had walked away from. To get onto the ladder which could lead towards success. Although others saw it as his rise, he could only think of it, knew it was their success. And each time that he had thought he had lost his way, it was her that showed him the way.

He owed her everything, could never repay the debt he owed her. He could give her the world a dozen times over and not call the debt repaid. But he had not, could not have given her the gift she wanted most of all. She would have been a wonderful mother to his, no their, children, wonderful. Sometimes at times like this he marveled at the cruelty of life. For that was not the only cruelty life had bestowed on her. Oh no, not at all. For it had one last indignity to administer. He could still remember her call, when she thought she had been having a stroke. It had not been a stroke, although perhaps, perhaps that may have been better. Bells Paralysis they had called it, which she had never recovered from. Oh the doctors had done their best, twenty odd hours of surgery. But they hadn't been able to reclaim the beauty that had been stolen. But god he still loved her. Loved to hold her in the small hours. But now even that was being taken from her. His own illness made it difficult for him to share her bed. But none of that could diminish his love for her.

But time to finish his drink and call it a night. His driver would certainly be on time in the morning. Much like he had been when arriving at the Thursdays all those years ago. But the only similarity between himself and Richard was that each drove a Jaguar. Of course Richard was a different kettle of fish than he had been in his youth. Possessing a different skill set entirely, one of those serious never young men whose smile never reached his eyes. He would whisk him to a meeting with other serious men where they would discuss things he had never given a thought to in his youth.

Maybe he should walk into her room, wake her, take her into his arms and tell her he was going to give it up. Name the place and we'll go, finish our lives on your terms.

He tossed back the remnants of his Glenfiddich, and stood as erect as he could, looked towards her room and whispered "tomorrow".


End file.
